


Two Sides Of The Same Coin

by ShadowBiscuit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Bloody Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Sam, Cop & Murderer, Detective Sam Winchester, Dirty Talk, Evil Dean, Gun Kink, Gun play, Handcuffs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kinks, Knife Play, M/M, Mark of Cain, Marking, Murderers, Pain Kink, Plot Twists, Police Officer Sam, Porn With Plot, Possessive Dean, Righteous Man, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Scared Sam, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Serial Killer Dean, Spanking, Top Dean, Unreliable Narrator, kinda rape, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBiscuit/pseuds/ShadowBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester, police detective.<br/>He's trying to find the notorious serial killer who has been leaving mutilated bodies all around the city. The police hasn't been this baffled since the time of Jack the Ripper. This mystery killer is just simply impossible to catch...<br/>But Sam isn't one to back down from a challenge. So he hunts the monster that preys on the innocent, however this time, he's not sure if he wants to win.<br/>Not when the "Righteous Man" might be his own flesh and blood, his big brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blindfold's Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for any mistakes!  
> Also, disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, well, Sam, Dean and Castiel. The original ones are, you guessed, owned by me indeed!  
> Anyway, good reading everyone and I hope you'll enjoy the story!  
> Feedbacks are always appreciated. (Translation: writer wants to know if she screwed up anything)  
> <3

When people are still young, they dream about big things. Little girls want to become princesses, actresses or singers, and little boys dream about the thrill of being a firefighter, an astronaut or a policeman.

Sam Winchester has always wanted to become a lawyer, but after a few years of studying law, he decided that he wanted to become another kind of man of the law. So he became a police officer.

And unlike what most people think, being a policeman is freaking hard.

It took Sam many years of hard work to reach the rank of a police detective, and even though he didn’t have to wear that annoying uniform anymore, received a higher pay check, the work was still as difficult as before, if not more.

The work of a detective was a bit more laid back, though, and Sam enjoyed most of it. He was working on a case even now, one that involved four dead bodies in a matter of a week, which was something even the high branch couldn’t turn a blind eye to.

Sitting on his couch on his day off – but he was still working, isn’t he amazing? -, Sam looked through the pictures once again. He has seen them so many times that he almost knew where every single drop of blood was, but that wasn’t enough. Some might call him a perfectionist, or even insane, but when he took a case he’d never stop until he caught the culprit, no matter what, or how long it took. That was one of the reasons why he managed to become a respected detective in a reasonably short time, if compared to the other detectives already out there.

It was a truly gruesome sight that welcomed him each time he took the pictures out of the brown folder. He laid them out on the table, in chronological order, and looked them over one by one, for the umpteenth time.

Unlike with most serial killers, not all victims were women, or defenseless. Actually, three out of four were men.

First victim, named Brandon Leonhart. No witnesses. A couple on their way to the train station found him, or at least what remained of him, stuffed into a smaller dumpster. The only way the forensics team could identify the man was by his dental prints, as his body was not only mutilated, but has also been set on fire. On the picture, it wasn’t visible how many stab wounds Brandon had, but according to the official forensics report, he had 62, all of them in his chest, from what the team could tell. The culprit didn’t burn the body completely, just enough to make the police’s work harder, as if killing these people was just a game for him. They know, or at least suspect that the murderer was a man, as every time they found a corpse, there was always a little gift card left next to the body, and written in it with big, happy letters was ‘The Righteous Man was here!’.

And the card was the only reason they knew that this man was a serial killer. Because when the average person tries to define what a serial killer is, they would all say pretty much the same; that a serial killer was a sort of murderer who kills many, in the same way, using some kind of pattern. That definition would be correct, however it didn’t apply to their mysterious ‘righteous’ man. This person left a different body with every murder. He set fire to, and stabbed the first victim, then did something else to his other victims, making it hard to connect the murders to the same killer, if not for the card, making Sam wonder what their culprit wanted more. Murder, or fame?

Victim number two, Katelyn Loon. Her body was left at the side of a desert road, at night, only to be discovered the next day, in an even worse state it must have been in. Half eaten, the forensics weren’t sure if her guts were removed before, or after she was left to rot. An odd thing, that Sam still couldn’t understand, was why the killer shaved her head. Picking up the picture taken of her head, he took a closer look at the shape made out with the victim’s remaining hair, as the culprit managed to create a rather visible symbol as he shaved the girl’s head. Even after hours of research, nobody could identify the symbol, so most of them gave up, guessing it was just a random scribble. They’d look into it later, when it has more importance, they said.

But Sam couldn’t just leave it. Each time he looked at the picture, at the symbol, something was bugging him…he didn’t know what, not exactly, but somehow he had that eerie feeling, as if he had seen the symbol before. He just didn’t know where.

Or maybe the most logical explanation would be that he simply confused the shape with something else, that his mind was playing tricks on him.

Still, he just couldn’t let it go, for some reason. Staring at the head of a dead woman wouldn’t really help him figure out from where he thought he recognized the symbol though, so he put the picture back on the table instead, and continued looking through the photos of the other two victims.

The third victim might have been the worst one. His name was Edmund Brown. Only a few parts of him were found, scattered around the city. That day, the police department received many calls about severed human limbs found in alleys, on roads and even one that way hanging from a balcony. Though probably the most disgusting one was the severed head found in a water tank, and the fact that it was only found a day later, just made everything so much worse. Sam was surprised that not everyone who drank that water threw up, however most of them still checked in a hospital to get themselves a gastric lavage. This victim, judging from the parts of him that were recovered, with many pieces still missing, was sawn apart while he was still alive as no deadly wounds were found during the autopsy.

Finally, the fourth victim’s name was Victor Thorn. His body was found in a dark alley, impaled on the door of a club he was working at as a bouncer. Naturally, this man’s physique should have slowed the killer down, or at least given him some trouble to manhandle him, but no evidence indicating self defense, or even a fight, were found. No matter how surprising it seemed, the forensics team was convinced that the cause of death was a single stab in the forehead, however one that not only fractured the skull and brain, but passed through them until the murder weapon was impaled on the door, leaving the body hanging like that. And if that wasn’t weird enough, they still couldn’t figure out where the killer managed to get a damned medieval lance.

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face as he felt a nasty headache already forming from the lack of sleep, and staring at his laptop for at least ten hours straight probably wasn’t a great idea either, but catching this psychopath came first. It has been a day and a half since their ‘righteous’ man has slain someone, and something told Sam that there was going to be another person’s blood on his, and the police’s hands, pretty damn soon.

They have received many complaints and threats, pleas and some immature asshole even threw a few eggs at their HQ. Well yes, four people dead and still no lead on the culprit whatsoever? Obviously, that called for a full on protest against the whole police. Even Sam got caught up in a dangerous conversation once, with a crazy lady, who wouldn’t let go of his jacket until he answered her annoying questions. Thank god some of the guards saw that, and rescued him from years of trauma caused by a crazy eyed lady.

He didn’t mean to be a jerk. Sam Winchester became a detective in order to save people, but even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have answered that woman’s questions, because he was just as clueless as her. And that was the worst, knowing that no matter how hard one tried to find the answers, find the missing pieces of the puzzle, all his efforts were in vain. Sam was still nowhere, and that was what drove him mad.

Never in the history of crime were police as helpless and clueless as now. There was once the case of Jack the Ripper, but at that time the law didn’t have the necessary equipment to identify and catch the killer. Now it’s the 21st century, however, and still, no matter how much they tried, it was as if their culprit was a ghost…

Anyway, Sam was practically nowhere in finding the culprit, and that just wouldn’t do. Mumbling to himself how he should get a grip and stop being a whiny bitch, he gathered the pictures and slid them back into the folder, which he then placed on his desk, in the room next to the kitchen.

He decided that it was time to call the coroner’s office, but as he took his phone out of his pocket, he nearly suffered from a heart attack right there, when the phone began to ring in his hand. Taking a moment to calm his nerves, and reminding himself that he seriously needed some sleep, he pressed the answer button.

“We have to meet up.”

“And hello to you too, Marco,” Sam said, not even bothering to hold the phone away from his mouth as he yawned.

“Someone hasn’t been sleeping enough?” came Marco’s intelligent answer, followed by some laughter at the other end of the line.

“None of your business, and I’m pretty sure asking about my health isn’t why you called me on my day off. So, what is it?” Sam asked, sitting back on the couch.

There was a moment of silence, one that told Sam his friend was going to ask him a favor, probably a big one. “Yeah, well, let’s meet up at the Davinchi Café, yeah? I’ll tell you there.”

“What’s all this secrecy about, Marc?” he asked, not liking the tone of the man’s voice.

“Damn it Sam, just get your ass here. It’ll be worth it, I promise,” Marco said, before he hung up on Sam.

He wasn’t quite sure what the hell just happened, but he only heard his friend this excited about something when they promised Marc naked women for his bachelor party, so whatever his deal was, it must have been important. Grabbing his coat, Sam got into his car and drove down to the Davinchi Café, a nice, small place where people could relax and talk about world domination without being bothered. It was also his and Marc’s favorite coffee place.

Marco Arevalo, or as Sam used to call him, Marc, was a police officer in the same station he was working at. They’ve been friends for two years now, probably the only real friend Sam had, and they’ve been through a lot together. With him becoming a detective, they spent less and less time together, but still met up, either for a case or for the usual drinking parties. Marc loved drinking with Sam, mostly because, according to him, Sam was a chick magnet. With Marc being married now, he stopped picking up girls, though he still went out for many drinks with his friend. But Marc wasn’t ugly either. With his short black hair and stubble, his deep brown eyes, many women have called him a Latin macho.

When Sam finally arrived at the Café, it didn’t take him long to find his friend, who was trying to get his attention by waving his hand non-stop. Rolling his eyes, he walked over to Marc and joined him at the smaller table situated in the corner of the room.

“Finally. My coffee got cold,” the man complained, glancing from left to right and making Sam believe that his friend might have turned into a conspiracy theory junkie.

“Yeah, well I ain’t buying you a new one,” Sam stated, noticing the fake pout on Marc’s face. Not really having time for his friend’s childish behavior, he got to the point. “So, will you finally tell me why I had to drop everything and come over here?”

Marc nodded, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He glanced around again, before taking out a small evidence bag and put it on the table, looking smug and proud of himself. As for Sam, he frowned and stared at the candy wrapper in the bag, but he wasn’t any less confused than before, only more.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he picked the bag up.

“This-“ Marc grinned, snatching the bag out of Sam’s hands and put it back on the table while skillfully avoiding the taller man’s bitchface. “-is evidence.”

“Evidence…” Sam repeated the word, but its relevance to the wrapper still didn’t reveal itself to him.

“You know how all of the Righteous Man’s victims were moved? All but one,” Marco began his explanation, looking more and more happy with himself.

“Yeah. The first three vics were all moved to a place where they could be easily found, and everybody would know about them.”

“But…the guard was left exactly where he was killed. First guy was smoking in a dumpster, the woman was left at the side of the road to be eaten, and the other guy was…well, all around the city. So, I was wondering why mister skinhead stayed put. Aside from the fact that he was impaled.”

Marc seemed to have a point. Sam also thought about it, but he couldn’t really find a rational answer for it. But now it looked like his friend might have found something, or at least, Sam really hoped that he did.

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain the candy wrapper,” he said skeptically.

“Please, I’m getting there,” Marc smirked and leaned closer, starting to whisper. “I went through the fourth victim’s clothes, and found the wrapper was stuck to the bottom of his shoe.”

“Marc, many people come and go through the door the man was guarding, and no matter how unbelievable it may be, people litter.”

“Oh shut up Sam,” he rolled his eyes, then took the wrapper out of the bag before presenting it to Sam. “Do you recognize it?”

Sam looked at the wrapper for a bit, turned it around, but in the end just shook his head.

“Yeah, I thought so. This candy was sold in a store called Benny’s Sweets. And the wrapper here, is completely fresh. Or at least, compared to how it should be looking like if somebody would have left it there when there was a party, and then there’s all that mud where the victim was working-“

“Okay Marc, I get it,” Sam said, cutting his friend’s never ending explanation. “So the wrapper was too new, for a place like that.”

“Exactly. And there was no party that night, so who left the wrapper there?”

“You do know that he might have simply eaten it himself, right?” Sam asked, but the second he saw the smug smile on Marc’s face, he knew that there was something else to this wrapper.

“Sam…remember how I said that the candy _was_ sold? It used to be sold. In other words, the only store that used to manufacture and sell this type of candy closed years ago.”

Well, that was a surprise.

“Wait,” Sam frowned, picking the wrapper up and inspecting it again. “Yeah, it looks way too…fresh. But if it has gone out of business a long time ago, and if the victim wasn’t the one who left it…”

“Then the only other person who could have possibly left it there is the killer,” Marc grinned, now from ear to ear, as he suddenly stood up from his chair, nearly making it fall.

“Holy shit,” Sam mumbled, also smiling and having a hard time to cope with the fact that they might have actual evidence, for once.

“Sam,” he heard Marc before he felt him, as he grabbed him by his coat and tried to pull him out of the chair. “Sam, we need to get to the store.”

“Wait, what? You said it was closed-“

“Closed, yeah, but also only a few blocks from here. Can’t you see that this is a clue? We need to get inside that store, Sam,” he urged the other on, Sam having no choice but to agree with Marc.

“You’re right. Damn it, I can’t believe I missed this!” Sam growled, but began to calm down a little as he felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder.

“Come on man, not your fault. I’m just a bit more fanatic about the job than you,” he said, winking and laughing as he began walking. “Now let’s pay a visit to the good ol’ Benny’s Sweets!”

Sam nodded, and followed the other man. They were about to break into a building, but he couldn’t really care less at the moment. An actual evidence. However as they walked, Sam was starting to doubt the credibility of it. He wasn’t even sure if it was an evidence. This Righteous Man has never made any mistakes whatsoever, so how come now, of all times, they found a candy wrapper on the victim, one that belonged to a store long closed. That made Sam think…what if their killer left it there on purpose? What if this wasn’t evidence at all, but more like a clue? Or a trap? He knew that the murderer liked to play games, taunt the police with cards and gloat over his murders, so why would this be any different?

“Marc,” Sam said hesitantly, clearing his throat as he watched his friend trying, and failing at picking the lock to the store.

“Yeah, what?”

“I was just wondering, but…what if this is a trap?” he asked, looking around and feeling more and more sure about himself, and about the fact that this was a bad idea.

“Oh come on, don’t be sissy,” Marc laughed, then cursed and kicked the door as it refused to open. “Hey, I know you’re better at this than me, so why don’t you give it a try?”

“I just have a bad feeling about this, okay? At least let’s come back with backup or something. I don’t even have my gun on me, damn it,” Sam sighed, not really wanting to sound like he was scared, but he truly felt uncomfortable. And it wasn’t because of the fact that he was suspicious of this place, at least not only that. He didn’t tell Marc, because he knew he couldn’t feel it, or else he would have commented on it the moment they were close enough to the abandoned building, but Sam, he could feel it. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but this sort of…sixth sense of his played a great part of him becoming a detective. He could feel it, that this place was bad, dark. Not like haunted bad, but more like a feeling you’d get standing in front of a monster’s den. Sam clenched his jaw, but couldn’t ignore it. Their ‘monster’ has been here alright, but he wasn’t sure that he left.

And Sam Winchester wasn’t a weak man. He was strong both mentally, and physically. But that also meant that he wasn’t foolish, and knew that if one day he was to meet the killer, then a hand-to-hand combat might be way too dangerous. After all, monsters always recognize each other.

“Sam, for the love of everything, just open this damned door, would you?” Marc nearly whined, sounding annoyed and irritated, and looking like a kid who couldn’t choose if he wanted the red or the blue balloon.

Knowing that saying no, or even arguing with Marc at this point would only result in him stomping like a spoiled child, Sam reluctantly took a bobby pin out from his pocket, something he _only_ used for lock picking of course, and after a few moments, the door creaked open.

“Finally,” Marc muttered as he stepped inside, with Sam following him and feeling like they just entered a portal to Hell.

The exterior of the store was actually way worse than the interior, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t look like a scene that belonged to American Horror Story. The outside of the building was smoky gray, with some parts crumbling and the painting fading, with some odd drawings on the plainer walls. The roof looked like it could collapse any minute and now that Sam was inside, he really hoped that it wasn’t going to crush them.

Inside, it looked like your usual candy store – until he saw the clown.

Sam froze, eyes slightly widening as he noticed several clown figures in the shadows. Marc, noticing that his friend wasn’t following him anymore, saw the frightened expression on Sam’s face and laughed.

“Oh god, you should see your face,” Marc mocked him, then walked over to one of the clown statues and poked its face. “Come on Sam, they ain’t that bad. Just immobile statues. They can’t hurt you.”

Sam obviously knew that, but those creepy smiles were still freaking him out nonetheless. Taking a deep breath, he chose to ignore the white faces seemingly staring right at him and walked deeper into the store, looking around for, well, anything.

They walked for a few minutes, squinting in the darkness as most of the windows were boarded and they didn’t bring a flashlight, something truly stupid, but he wasn’t going to blame Marc.

No, scratch that, he was going to.

“Damn it, I can’t see anything,” Sam sighed, looking around the counter and finding something that must have been a bubble gum once, however now it was more like some sort of alien goo. “I can’t believe you planned this, without bringing a flashlight.”

“Oh come on, I forgot, please don’t take my head oh great Samuel,” Marc rolled his eyes, then grunted as he hit the back of his head against a shelf, and Sam didn’t even bother to muffle his laugh. “Very funny…”

“Yeah, it actually is,” he grinned, seeing his white teeth shine in the darkness from a mirror, which made him stop smiling right away. Enough creepiness for today.

Sam taking the room that looked like a lounge, and Marc the back room, they kept on looking, when he heard a shout from the room Marc was in. A shout of his name. Thinking of the worst, Sam grabbed something and stalked towards the back room, as quietly as possible, but when he opened the door, all he saw was Marc standing, unharmed, and knocking at a glass container.

“Marc, what are you doing?” Sam asked, looking slightly confused.

“Well, I believe I found the jackpot-“ Marc started, but paused when he saw what Sam was holding. “Uh, Sam? What exactly are you planning on doing with that doll?” he asked, pointing at the thing in the man’s hand.

Sam swallowed and, hoping it wasn’t some sort of skeleton part, slowly raised his hand and looked at the small and surprisingly scary clown doll for a long minute before throwing it as far as humanly possible. He then wiped his hand on his pants for good measure.

“Well, what was that about ‘jackpot’?” he asked, expertly pretending that nothing happened, and Marc wasn’t the kind of fool to pick on a man with a phobia and a six pack.

So instead, he nodded towards the glass container that was half filled with the same kind of candy which’s wrapper they found. “I guess our killer got the candy from here. Which means he’s been here. Which also means…”

“He might have left something behind,” Sam finished the man’s sentence, and couldn’t help but smile a little. It might be a trap, but if the Righteous Man truly has been here, then he could have been careless and maybe, even could have left some of his DNA behind. Now that would be a great day for the police.

“Exactly. C’mon, let’s search this place,” Marc suggested, and Sam agreed with a nod.

They looked around the back room for at least half an hour, constantly updating each other on what they found, which was, unfortunately, nothing useful. After a while, Marc called for a break and left the room, leaving Sam alone. He didn’t care, though, as finding evidence came first, before fear, before anything. He might have been feeling slightly uncomfortable, yes, and he still had this feeling that this was a bad, bad place, but if he was going to overlook a precious piece of evidence because of it, he would never forgive himself. However, no matter how much he looked, he truly couldn’t find anything, and he was just about to give up, when he saw it.

Right there, among the candies in the container, was a single green toy soldier. It was so small, it could have been easily missed, overlooked, but as he stood up and was ready to leave, Sam noticed it. He stared at it for a moment, for a minute, maybe even more before he stepped closer to the container and opened the lid, then took the toy out. He stared at it, mesmerized, and for some reason, he could feel his eyes water. But only for a moment, it wasn’t time to be emotional. And anyway, it would have been impossible for this toy soldier to be the same Sam had owned when he was little. That one was gone, trapped thanks to him, in a car that might or might not be still out there. Yes, it wasn’t his, couldn’t be his, but that didn’t matter. It looked too familiar. A small smile crossed his face, and he gently put the toy in his pocket.

Sam Winchester wasn’t always alone. He had a family, once. That toy made him remember it, the good times, the bad times, his mother, the times he spent with his father, and his big bother…

But they were dead, now. All of them.

All of them except Sam.

“Hey, you okay there?” he heard Marc’s voice before his saw him, even though he was standing right before him. Making himself snap out of it, Sam cleared his throat, and mind, and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, walking past his friend and out of the room, leaving Marc, and the unwanted memories behind. “Let’s get out of here. We’re not finding anything…”

“Yeah, damn,” Marc sighed, following Sam. “I really thought we’d find something. This is such a bummer.”

“Don’t sweat it, Marc. It was a long shot, anyway,” he said, trying to reassure his friend, and himself at the same time, because it really was disappointing that they didn’t manage to find anything. Well, anything aside from the toy soldier, but that couldn’t be a clue.

Right?

*

That night, Sam had a weird dream.

It started out fine. He was having a simple dream, sitting in a car with a girl by his side, the wind howling outside, but the howl gradually became a growl, a terrifying sound, shrieking and deep at the same time, as if it was a mix of every pitch audible for the human ear, and maybe even some that wasn’t. And then, the dream became a nightmare. He was alone, in a different car, sitting in the passenger seat of an unusually familiar car. He was unable to speak, no matter how hard he tried, then it got worse when slowly, he began making out shapes in the darkness of the car. Someone was driving, a man, and when Sam looked around frantically, he also noticed someone in the backseat, leaning against the window.

He wanted to find out who, or what, these shapes were, but without his voice he felt lost, too confused, too weak. It was a degrading, horrible feeling and it only got worse when he started smelling things. The first thing that hit his nose was the smell of blood. It was so engulfing, so strong that Sam felt suddenly nauseous. He tried to roll down the window, but it wouldn’t budge, nor did the door. At one point, he truly believed that what was happening to him was real, that he was forever trapped in the car with these smoky shapes, when the shape behind the wheel started to clear out.

It was a male, Sam was right. Old, unkempt, and he just…looked so very tired. Something in the man’s eyes said he has seen many things, way too many, some that weren’t meant for human eyes. Sam knew this man, he thought, he could feel it, but it didn’t matter how much he tried, he couldn’t remember who it was. It was seriously beginning to annoy him, his incapability to remember, when he heard a voice. It wasn’t his, he still couldn’t talk, but the voice was repeating his name. Over and over again, it repeated “Sam, Sam,” until he was finally able to find where it was coming from. The strange, way too deep and low voice came from behind him, from the still unclear shape leaning against the window. Sam squinted, trying hard to make out who was calling him, even though he had a bad feeling about the way it kept calling his name, but couldn’t see anything, aside from the fuzzy shape of a person. Probably another man, judging from the voice, however he couldn’t be sure.

Then, just before he woke up, just before everything was gone, before Sam heard a deafening sound and felt an unnaturally real pain as something crashed into the car, he managed to see something. The shape in the back, its face, Sam saw it. At least, some of it. And when he woke up, sweating and panting, he could still see the figure’s pitch black eyes that seemed to be staring right at him, right into his very soul.

“Fuck,” he cursed in shock, sitting up in his bed and taking a moment to calm himself down before sliding his legs out of the bed. Sam rubbed his face, took his sweat soaked shirt off, then stood up and slowly made his way to the bathroom. He managed not to throw up and instead splashed some water on his face to wake himself up, to wash away the memories of the nightmare. He couldn’t, though, as those eerie eyes seemed to haunt him even now, even though it was only a dream, Sam felt a shiver run through his body.

“You’re a fucked up man, with fucked up dreams, Sam Winchester,” he said to himself, shaking his head with a small smile before getting in the shower.

After cleaning himself up, and putting on some clothes, he glanced at the clock and wasn’t too surprised when he saw that it was only half past four in the morning. It didn’t matter, though, since he wanted to wake up early today, anyway. Not that early, but hey, you can’t always get what you want.

Sam planned on going back to the police HQ and ask the coroner a favor. Marco was a smart man for going back and taking a closer at the bodies, and everything surrounding them. Because the toy soldier was a clue, even if Sam wasn’t sure to what yet. But it certainly couldn’t have been left there by mistake, not after what Marc found. So, it was time he took a trip to the bodies himself, and dig a little.

Not literally.

Unless there was no other choice, though Sam really didn’t like digging into decomposing corpses, or really, any corpses. He wasn’t squeamish, oh no, but after his creepy dream, he wasn’t sure he could handle the smell of blood, for at least a week.

He didn’t even know that blood had a smell.

Sam combed his hair, something Marc and some other police officers sometimes teased him about, then quickly drank some coffee – he wasn’t sure if he could stomach food right now.

He had a car, a black Dodge Charger, though he rarely used it. He liked travelling by foot, when he could. However the police station was pretty far away, so after a few minutes of searching for the car keys, Sam was sitting behind the wheel and doing a great job at not recalling any events from his dream.

Damn, it was going to nag him all day, wasn’t it?

Of course it was going to, Sam dreamed about a freaking car crash with some weird ghost people, with one being frustratingly familiar and the other having black eyes of doom. Yeah, sure, it wasn’t going to bother Sam at all.

He sighed, taking a deep breath then started the engine. He was going to be fine. A messed up dream was nothing, he had worse in real life. Sam was going to go to the HQ, meet up with Marc, with the coroner, dig in some corpses and have a nice day.

Yeah, it was going to be great.

There was only one little thing that Sam didn’t think of when he stopped in front of the HQ.

And that was finding Marc’s dead body hanging from the police station’s building, with his eyes gauged out and all of his skin missing. Instead of it being on his body, his skin was somehow hanging above the dead man, forming letters that, on a closer look, could be read as “Getting warmer.”

Yes. Sam didn’t see that coming.

Sam froze from shock, and only managed to open the car door when an officer knocked on the window.

“Sam, shit, what are you doing here?” the man asked, sounding concerned but Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of his dead friend. Mutilated, displayed for everyone to see. Ignoring the officer, Sam pushed through the swarm of people, journalists and passersby with phones in their hands, and ducked under the yellow keep out tape as he made his way to the building.

Now that he was this close, he noticed other details about the body. Marc’s hands were nailed to the building, which was how he was hanging. Same went for his skin hanging from above. His intestines were wrapped around his torso and Sam could have sworn it was tied into a fucking ribbon. However the worst was how Sam managed to understand the message the killer tried to deliver.

A message for the public, for the police, and one for Sam.

Nailing a corpse to a building must have taken a lot of time. Nailing it to a police building was a pure mockery, a sign that no matter what they did, the police wouldn’t be able to ever catch him. The public should be scared, should understand that they can’t and won’t be protected. And in a horrible, twisted way, the skin on Marc’s body being gone…it was like a candy without its wrapper.

“Getting warmer.”

Which meant that yesterday night, they discovered something. That Marc was right, the store, the wrapper was evidence. Maybe a clue, as Sam thought.

Something clicked, and he finally understood. Wide eyed, Sam rushed back to his car and smashed the door closed behind him before driving back to his house.

On the way back to his house, he fought the urge to throw up, but he still had to pull over and was fast enough to open the door before he leaned out and threw up on the road. People gave him weird looks, but he didn’t care, couldn’t, not when everything was so fucked up. He just wished this was a dream, a nightmare, that he was still dreaming and that when he’d wake, everything would be fine. But no, this was reality, he had to accept that his best and only friend was not only dead but his body was also put on display like a work of art.

Sam laughed, suddenly taken over by emotions, because he was damn sure that for this Righteous Man, it _was_ a work of art, what he did. He always seemed so proud of his kills, of his victims, always showed them off. He only later realized that he was also crying, probably looking like a completely insane person. Getting back behind the wheel, he drove the rest of the way to his house, then immediately ran to his desk and practically tore open the folder where the pictures of the victims were. He let them fall to the floor and kneeled down, going through the pictures until he found the one he was looking for.

Then, he stopped himself. What he was about to do was truly insane, a mere hunch, but he had to reassure himself. He needed to know that he was wrong, that seeing his friend’s corpse drove him mad. Sam crumpled the picture in his hand as he grabbed it too strongly, then after a moment of staring at his shaking hands, he stood up and ran up the stairs to his bedroom. He opened the drawers at the corner of the room, pulled them out so fast and hard that he pulled them out completely, but he didn’t care. Sam let go of the drawer, then went back to kneeling on the floor as he searched through the papers, through the small objects of the past, before he finally found the photo book. He then began flipping through the pages like a maniac, again and again, again and again, then there it was.

A picture of a younger version of him, smiling happily in a tree house. His big brother sitting next to him, holding a small piece of chalk. And in the background, on the wooden wall behind them, was drawn the exact same symbol as the one found on the second victim’s head.

“No…” Sam whispered, swallowing back a cry of anguish. He put the two pictures next to each other, the one of him and his brother and the one of the victim’s shaved head. No mistaking it, they were identical. Which should have been impossible. Him and his big brother, Dean, created that symbol together. It was a work of two kids’ stupid imagination, something non-existent.

Maybe, that’s why nobody could identify what the symbol was. Because it didn’t exist. Nobody knew about it, no scientists, no linguists, and no experts of any kind.

Nobody, except him and Dean.

_His dead brother._

But Dean Winchester couldn’t be the Righteous Man. That was not only impossible, but insane. The Dean Sam knew was kind, a wholehearted person who loved him. They had a rough time, with only a dad, but-

Dad.

Just when Sam thought he hit rock bottom, that his whole life was messed with, he remembered his nightmare. The man behind the wheel was his dad, John Winchester, he was sure of it. Which meant…

The man with those black eyes was Dean?

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?!” he growled, feeling like he should voice his thoughts. All of this was majorly fucked up. Sam sat down, leaning against his bed and closed his eyes. He tried to calm down. He tried to stop shaking. He tried so hard, to just block everything out, wanted to curl up into a ball and never leave the house again. But that wouldn’t get him any answers.

“Okay…Sam Winchester,” he swallowed, licking his dry lips as he looked at the picture. “What do you know?” Sam asked himself, before glancing at his nightstand, where he put the toy soldier, the sight of it filling his heart with sorrow.

John and Dean Winchester died in a car crash five years ago. The car caught on fire, and they both burned to death. They never found Dean’s corpse. Now, their childhood symbol and a toy soldier, that might or might not be the one Sam trapped in their old car, were part of an investigation concerning a serial killer.

Sam wasn’t mad. He wasn’t crazy…but then why? How come he couldn’t shake this feeling? His older brother, who he saw as a monster in his dream, could he really be a monster? _The_ monster? Be out there, massacring people for fun?

How could that be?

Sam shook his head, refusing to listen to logic. Instead, he stood up, surprised that his legs didn’t give out, and shuffled to the bathroom. He then took a cold shower with his clothes still on, because he just didn’t give a fuck right then.

*

After a few hours of sitting silently in new, dry clothes, and staring off into space, Sam couldn’t take it anymore.

He took his phone out, and searched through his album until he found the right picture. Then he called all of his informants, at least those who had a phone, and sent them the picture before telling them what to do.

Next, he connected his phone to his computer and managed to print out enough copies of the picture to be sure that he had enough. Sam thought for a moment, that what he was doing was pretty crazy, but even though he still believed that his big brother, who should be _dead_ , wasn’t the killer, he needed to make sure.

Sam folded the papers, and then put them in his pocket before leaving the house once again. He walked around the city, until he finally found one of his informants, and waved him over.

“Yo, mister Winchester,” the man said, his beard looking like it has seen better days, and Sam made sure to keep a safe distance between him and the man’s mouth. His breath could kill, Sam was sure he saw a squirrel drop dead once because of it.

“Here, have you seen this man before?” Sam asked, taking one of the papers out, unfolded it, then gave it to the man. He only had two pictures of his big brother, aside from the ones in the photo album, from when they were kids. Both of them were on his phone, one showing Dean and John eating at a diner, and another where it was just Dean, looking at the camera with a half smile. These pictures were taken only a few days before the accident, by their old friend, Ellen.

Sam printed, and sent the picture of Dean only to his informants, since his brother at least looked happy there. He wasn’t sure why, but each time he saw that picture, Sam felt a knot in his chest, and even now, he had to clear his throat before he trusted himself with talking again.

“Nah, never seen him before. Why?” the man asked, glancing from the photo to Sam.

“I want you to keep an eye out for this man. Spread the word as much as you want, the more the better. This man…finding him is very important, top priority,” he said, then motioned for the man to put the photo away. “Obviously, the one who finds him will get a thousand dollars from me.”

“Seriously?” he asked with an enthusiastic smile that showed off his rotten teeth, making Sam take a step back.

“Yeah. As I said, I need to find this man ASAP.”

The man nodded, folding back the paper and put it away, then rubbed his palms together. “You can count of me, chief. I’ll spread the word,” he said before nodding at Sam and walking away, immediately going to one of his pals and showing him the picture.

Sam only had to visit three more of his informants, and then everybody in his circle would now about Dean. Men and women on the streets, in high places, shady and dark places, and practically everywhere. He even had a guard in a supermarket.

If Dean was alive and killing, Sam was going to know about it, sooner or later.

The only thing he didn’t know, was what he was going to do if the Righteous Man was Dean. He couldn’t kill him. Wouldn’t be able to, not when his big brother wasn’t actually dead. Sam might be a man of the law, but for Dean, he could break all of them.

Then at the same time, the righteous man’s a horrible murderer, one who enjoys killing and mutilating people. And if his big brother somehow turned out to be a person like that, even if Sam wouldn’t be a police detective, he would have to turn Dean in. Would need to. But the question is, will he? If push came to shove…what would Sam do?

He tried not to think about that, however, as he walked back home. He could worry about that later. Hell, maybe Dean was dead after all.

Sam wasn’t sure if that made him feel better though.

It was when he stepped through the door when another thing clicked. Sam frowned and walked to the papers of the victims littered on the floor, picked them up and brought them to the couch, where he sat down and looked through them again. The second victim had a clue, the symbol on her head. So did the fourth one, with the little toy soldier found in the container. Marc’s skin was peeled off, and this time instead of a card, the Righteous Man sent a message using the skin.

“Getting warmer,” Sam mumbled, thinking to himself. As kids, Sam and Dean also played hide and seek with objects many times, saying ‘cold’ when the other wasn’t even close to the object, and ‘warm’ and ‘hot’ when they were close. And judging by the fact that the killer decided to write that the day after Sam found the toy soldier, he was guessing that there might be other clues.

Which meant, Sam was going to have to find out what was hidden by the first and third body. And about Marc’s body… he wasn’t sure if there was a clue there, but even if there was, he wouldn’t be able to look for it. Not yet.

For now, he was going to start with the burnt body of Brandon Leonhart, which was sitting in the police HQ’s morgue, still. The family couldn’t bring themselves to decide if they wanted to bury, or cremate their son. Marc always used to joke about that, saying how they could get cremation over half price, since the job was already half done, but stopped when Sam shot him his famous glare.

He thought about going back now, but his friend’s body could be in the morgue, being investigated, and Sam would’ve rather missed out on that. But, at the same time, he couldn’t be squeamish, couldn’t be emotional, not now. He was capable of becoming indifferent when wanting to, and knew that he’d probably have to use that ‘skill’ now, in order to get to the Righteous Man as soon as possible, and stop people from becoming future victims.

So with that in thought, and with his mind relatively set, Sam took the walk back to his car once again, got in, and drove down to the HQ. He was relieved upon noticing that the big crowd that was waiting by the HQ was gone now, probably sent away by the police, or they simply got bored. Either way, Sam was glad that he wouldn’t have to fight his way through a swarm of humans in order to get to the door. He parked behind the building, and even though there was practically nobody outside, except for a few guards, the inside was packed with men and women of the law.

“Sam,” he heard his name and, as he turned around, saw the deputy emerging from the crowd, holding his hat to his chest. The look on his face hinted that he aged ten years in around a few hours.

“Sir,” Sam nodded politely as they shook hands, then let himself be guided to a more secluded corner, since the whole lobby, and probably the halls too, were littered with police. The fifth victim was a police officer, after all.

“Son, heard you showed up not long after we found the…Marco’s body. A man told me you ran off, though,” the deputy said, looking Sam with knowing eyes.

Sam lowered his head and let out a small sigh, and when he looked into the other man’s eyes, he did his best not to show his emotions. “I did, Sir. I couldn’t bare the sight of…”

“No, I understand,” he said, briefly patting Sam’s shoulder. “No need to explain your actions to me. I was only curious, since you’re back. Are you feeling better?”

“I am, yes,” he lied, faking a thin lipped smile as he glanced at the morgue from the corner of his eyes. “Thank you for, uh, understanding, Sir.” Sam took a step back, excusing himself, then smoothly walked past the deputy and, after a quick glance over his shoulder, sneaked in the morgue.

Obviously, he knew what to expect when he made the decision to barge into a morgue, right after a murder. He only came for the burnt body, and for the small amount of ‘evidences’ surrounding it, however knew that he might encounter some morticians in the middle of…work.

Even though he knew all that, Sam was still taken aback when he closed the door behind himself, and found Marc’s body sprawled on a steel table, with two men standing next to it, one holding what appeared to be his dead friend’s abused insides, while the other was sealing things into little evidence bags.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!” one of the man’s voice made Sam snap out of it, and he tried to ignore him the best he could, walking straight to where they stored the first victim’s body. His, rather imbecile, plan was to stay neutral, like he belonged here, but that plan was quickly failing as the man who noticed him began fumbling with his bloody gloves, and it looked a lot like he was going to open the door. And then tell on him, of course.

Sam couldn’t let that happen though, so he quickly closed the distance between him and the mortician, grabbing his elbow. “Wait, I need to look for something very important. Please,” he asked, all the while gripping the other’s elbow, just in case. He completely ignored the other mortician in the room, but that one didn’t do much aside from staring and after a while, went back to work.

“And you can do that, after we’re done here. If you couldn’t tell, we’re busy,” the man stated stubbornly, trying to rip his elbow out from Sam’s grasp, with little success. Sam was growing desperate. He didn’t want to knock this guy out just to get to the evidence bag, but at the same time, he really needed to hurry up and find another clue. Not only because of curiosity, but to see if his brother really was the killer, or not.

“Sir, you need to leave,” mortician number two finally decided to chime in, sighing, like talking was straining for him. He still held the bowl where he put the evidence bags from Marc’s body, and Sam was contemplating about snatching it from him in order to bash mortician number one’s head in, when he saw the little golden face.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” he mumbled, probably so quickly that none of the men understood, and grabbed the evidence bag containing the object he noticed before practically sprinting out of the room. He thought about walking out of the HQ in a calm, composed manner, and did just that until one of the men from the morgue shouted after him. That’s when he took off running, back to his car, and somehow managed to get away with stealing evidence unnoticed. Well, aside from Dumb and Dumber, but they didn’t count.

Sam drove a few streets away, then found a diner’s parking lot, where he took out the bag he stole and opened it. He watched as the necklace slid into his palm, then he took the golden face between his fingers, running his thumb over its edge. There was no mistaking it. This was the exact same necklace Sam gave Dean on a Christmas where their Dad was out working. His big brother never took it off after that, not even while showering or sleeping. Sam thought that it was lost, forever, just like his brother, but after these recent events, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

Somewhere, on Marc’s body, this necklace was hidden. The toy soldier, the symbol, and now this. No matter how Sam didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t deny the facts any longer. Dean Winchester, his big brother, wasn’t dead. He was alive, all this time, and was a serial killer.

Shaking his head, Sam clenched the amulet in his hand as he leaned his head against the window, knowing well that panic wasn’t going to solve anything. Which is why he tried some breathing exercises, but that only resulted in him starting to laugh at himself, the laughter slowly turning hysterical. He punched the steering wheel once, twice, then three times before he finally broke down crying. It was embarrassing, humiliating, but he didn’t, couldn’t give a crap who saw him weeping in his car. He needed to let it out, let it all out, the emotions he’s been suppressing ever since he found the toy.

The feeling of overwhelming happiness and sorrow, anger and confusion was a deadly cocktail of emotions Sam wasn’t prepared for. This was the best, and also the worst case scenario. His brother, he was alive. Sam was so happy to know that the one person he looked up to, loved from the bottom of his heart, idolized ever since he was a little kid, never died in a car crash. Instead, he became one of the most brutal, horrifying and cruel serial killers known, visibly having fun while torturing innocent humans.

Yes, Sam wasn’t quite prepared for all of that.

Some heavenly force probably deciding that it was about time Sam should stop grieving, his phone rung suddenly, forcing him to wipe his eyes and man up. He rubbed his face, took a deep breath and cleared his throat before taking his phone out, and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the caller ID.

“Yeah?” he asked after pressing the answer button with a slightly shaking finger, hoping he didn’t sound like he felt.

“Yo Samuel, you sound like shit,” the man on the other line joked, then after a long sigh from Sam, he continued. “Hope I can cheer you up. Listen, about the picture you sent me today, I’ve gotta tell you, you’re one lucky bastard.”

“What, you found something?” Sam asked impatiently.

“I didn’t find _something_. I found _him_.”

Sam was pretty sure that if he wouldn’t have been sitting in his car, he would have collapsed to the ground, wherever he was right then.

He froze, unable to speak, even though there were so many things going through his mind, mostly questions. His informant probably noticing the strange silence, asked after a few moments, “You still there?” It still took him a second to get himself together and answer, after he was positive he wouldn’t sound like someone who’s about to break down.

“Uh, where is he?” Sam asked, certainly not sounding one bit desperate.

“Well, dunno where he lives and such, but I saw where he went. I’m at a little restaurant, not known by many since it’s kinda in an alley-“

“Damn it, get to the point!” Sam shouted, then quickly mumbled an apology. His nerves were seriously protesting. And he also needed a good night’s sleep, probably. Most certainly.

“Okay, okay man. I just wanted to say that I saw him get out of a car, and also saw where he went. Oh and his car is still here. Parked right where I can see it,” the man said, followed by a light chuckle. “Guy’s taste is good in cars. He’s got a nice old one.”

“Old one?” Sam asked, his eyes widening as a thought struck him, but that couldn’t be. “Is the car…is it a black Chevy Impala? ’67?”

There was a pause, then he heard the man’s voice again, saying, “Yeah, I’m not a big car expert but that seems like it. So, you want the address?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam slid the phone between his head and shoulder, and backed out of the parking lot, heading towards the address his informant dictated.

“So, what’re you gonna do to him?”

Sam gripped the wheel, clenching his jaw and doing his best to enter his emotionless state, something that didn’t seem to be working for some reason. “I’m going to kick his butt,” was all he said before hanging up. Never mind kicking his big brother’s ass to the moon and back, Sam was going to do something way worse than that.

They were going to have a family talk.


	2. Long Time No See

The address Sam’s informant gave him lead to a quiet and secluded part of the town. He parked his car not far from the restaurant the man mentioned, but when he got out of the car, Sam couldn’t seem to find the other man anywhere. Shrugging it off, he crossed the street and soon noticed a black car hidden in the shadows of the alleyway.

 _The_ car, the Chevy Impala he played in as a kid, the one his father used to drive and Dean care for, as if it was his car.

And now it seemed that it was his, after all this time. Sam approached the car slowly, as if it could turn into something else any minute, and when he was only a few feet away, he realized that this car was truly cared for. It was shining in and out, but aside from that, nothing really changed. Sam put his hand on the hood, and couldn’t help but smile as he glanced in through the window. No litter anywhere, no signs of change, not even as much as remodeling a few things. There was even a cardboard box in the backseat, full of tapes of old songs, mainly AC/DC.

Memories came flooding back, and Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue looking for Dean anymore. He had a plan, like any other good police detective would. But the thing was, he only planned everything out until a certain point, until he found Dean. After that, he had no clue what to do, if he was going to bring him in, or let him go…

“No,” Sam muttered to himself, inwardly shaking his head as he stepped away from the car and looked into the darkness of the alleyway. The answers to his questions lay ahead, and he couldn’t back down now.

Sam began walking down the dark alley, looking for any signs of movement or suspicious figures standing around the corner, but aside from a few dumpster, litter scattered on the ground here and some decomposing furniture left there, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Further down the path, even the faint light coming from an old lamppost was gone, and Sam was forced to take out his flashlight. He was glad he thought about bringing it with him as he turned it on, and kept on walking into the shadows. Still, he didn’t see or find anything suspicious or outstanding.

He walked cautiously, slowly, straining his ears and eyes for even the smallest thing, but aside from the echoes of his shoes stepping on the wet pavement, he couldn’t hear anything. His heartbeat was rising, nervousness and, even though he didn’t want to admit, fear, began to slowly overtake him, causing him to see shadows where there was nothing, and hear whispers of incomprehensible words. Sam wasn’t afraid of the dark, but as he reached the dead end of the alleyway, he would have given anything to be out in the light again. He waited a generous amount of time, then couldn’t take the pressure any longer and walked back to the restaurant, not even realizing until he was in the light that he was panting, and sweating.

Sam took a deep breath and glanced at the car. It was still there, which meant that there was a fat chance that Dean was still around here somewhere too. He decided to look for his informant, since blindly searching the alleyway proved to be fruitless.

So, Sam went into the restaurant, looked around, then when he couldn’t find him inside, he checked the outside area of the place. But nothing, the man simply vanished. That made Sam even more nervous, considering that he talked to the man only an hour ago. And also, his red car was parked next to the restaurant as well.

That could only mean bad news, and Sam really wasn’t in the mood to find another corpse, so he quickly pulled his phone out and decided to check on his informant himself. He called him, and waited. No response, of course, and Sam cursed under his breath as he walked back and forth, hoping that nothing bad happened to the poor son of a bitch, when he heard the faint sound of a ringtone.

He stopped dead in his tracks, then pressed the end call button. Just as he did that, the sound stopped too. Sam knew that meant something was seriously wrong, and the fact that the sound came from the alley’s direction only made everything so much worse. He swallowed, took his flashlight in one hand and the phone in the other, then called the man’s phone again. And there it was again, the sound, the ringtone began again and this time, Sam followed it.

Closer and closer, he approached the sound until it was loud enough for him to pinpoint it, and when he noticed where it came from, he felt his stomach drop. He flashed the light towards a bigger dumpster and walked towards it, then kept on going until he reached the small gap between that, and another dumpster. In the gap were many garbage bags squeezed between the dumpster. Sam never took the flashlight off the bags as he ended the call and put his phone away, then proceeded to remove the bags one by one.

He only had to remove two before he was staring into the dead cloudy eyes of his informant.

“Shit,” he cursed, punching the dumpster closest to him. From what he could tell, the man has only been dead for a few minutes, between ten and forty, but that could mean that the killer could either be still here, or on the other side of town. Anger overpowering doubt, Sam flashed the light around and, even though he knew it was a bad idea, he shouted. “Dean! Damn it, I know you did it so come on out already! Enough with the games, it’s time to face the facts here, time to come clean!”

Nothing, no answer. Sam knew there was only fifty-fifty chance that Dean was still here, so he wasn’t too disappointed, though he was a bit sad.

And that was the most messed up about the whole thing. Sam was sad that Dean didn’t show, and not because a man was lying here dead, because of him. For his defense, the fact that Dean was gone also meant that Sam would have to start all over again, having to look for his brother from scratch. The knowledge that he was so close, yet so far…

It didn’t help, though, being all depressed about it now. Sam would have to call the murder in, that was the first and only thing he should be worried about. He let out a long and exasperated sigh before turning around and walking back to his car, but stopped after a few steps.

The Impala was still there. Which didn’t make any sense, since if Dean was gone-

But then again, what if he didn’t let himself be known because he didn’t want to, and not because he wasn’t actually here?

It was so obvious, but just when Sam thought about that, he felt a piercing pain in his neck. He didn’t even have time to react, his eyes felt heavy, suddenly feeling like he was going to collapse but just before he did, before all of his strength left him, he managed to turn his head and look at the man wearing a black leather jacket, saw the white of his teeth as he grinned.

“Heya Sammy,” was the last thing he heard before he was swallowed by darkness.

*

Sam woke up feeling like he was just done hibernating or something similar. He felt unnaturally tired, but not sleepy, and his mind was still a bit cloudy. Confused, he rubbed his eyes as he sat up, or at least would have, if he could.

He opened his eyes to find himself being tied to a bed, spread eagle style, and if that wouldn’t have freaked him out, then the fact that he was in a gloomy room, which was most certainly not his, probably would have done the job.

Trying to move his hands seemed impossible, and when he tried for like the tenth time, he had to realize that the ropes binding him to the headboard were too tight, and moving only resulted in his wrists hurting like hell. Same went for his ankles, but had to come to the same conclusion.

The room he was in was quite dark, but there was still enough light to be able to see a few things. For example, Sam noticed that he was in a motel room. There was a stupid looking divider not far from the bed, a table with two chairs at the corner of the room, a bedside table with a lamp on both sides of the bed, and a crappy TV in front of the bed.

A motel room. That made him remember how he and his brother used to crash in them with their dad when they were little, since their father had to work a lot. Thinking back now, he wasn’t sure why a mechanic would need to travel from state to state, but thinking too much about that hurt Sam’s head, so he let the memory go. Instead, panic was starting to slowly creep up on him, making him nervous and just wishing that something would happen.

And maybe he had some psychic power, as if, because the next moment the door opened, engulfing the room in light for a few seconds as Dean, his big brother, stepped into the room with a bag that…

Was that Sam’s bag?

“I see you’re up, sleeping beauty,” Dean said, tossing the bag on the floor as he walked towards the bed where Sam was trapped, then sat down at the side.

“Dean…” Sam whispered, surprised by how weak and scratchy his voice was, making him wonder just how long he was out.

“Yeah, it’s me alright,” he chuckled, patting Sam’s thigh reassuringly before leaning in and turning on one of the bedside lamps.

And Sam couldn’t stop the little smile on his face as he saw his brother, finally after all these years. He looked mature, manlier than before, his hair was a bit longer, he had some stubble and his eyes seemed too green, too brown, too piercing. Dean was a man, his brother, but even Sam had to admit that he looked hot. With his full lips, those gorgeous eyes, face, even hair, those smile wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes as he smirked, and damn, that smile. Dean Winchester was a handsome, breathtaking man.

Dean must have noticed the way Sam was staring at him, because his smirk turned into a genuine smile, looking proud and a bit cocky. “What Sammy, can’t take your eyes off of me? Well, I can understand. I’m pretty hot,” he winked, laughing when Sam’s eyes widened, and smiled.

“Dean, you…you’re not dead. What happened?” he asked, having so, so many questions that he wanted to know the answers to, but he settled with the simpler, less difficult ones. Difficult, for Sam to ask, and he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to know the answer to some.

“Well, long story short, I was fed up,” Dean said, shrugging and placing a hand on Sam’s abdomen, totally not making his little brother’s heart skip a beat. “I had enough of dad, and his ways. I wanted a new life, so I created myself one. I survived that car crash, but had to make it look like I died there, so…”

“So you faked your own death by setting fire to the car.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Thank god we were driving a rental car that day. I still have my baby with me,” he grinned, obviously referring to the Impala.

“Why did you never tell me? Do you know how worried and then how…how fucking miserable I was after I learned about your death?” Sam asked, raising his voice which was still weak and nearly broke. Like this, with his brother, alive, next to him, it was impossible for Sam to remain expressionless, or emotionless, and he could feel his eyes water against his will.

Dean sighed, and moved his hand from Sam’s abdomen to his face, tucking a few strands of hair behind the man’s ear. “I know, I’m sorry Sammy. I needed some time to sort a few things out. But now I know what I want to do with my life, I know everything, I’m not lost anymore. I know exactly what I want,” Dean stated, his thumb softly caressing Sam’s cheek before moving down to his neck, his fingers stopping above the collar of Sam’s shirt as they made eye contact. And the look in Dean’s eyes made Sam’s breath hitch, audibly.

He swallowed, and had to glance away. “And, uh, why did you tie me up Dean? I won’t escape, or anything,” he said, slowly looking back at Dean, and oh how he wished he hadn’t.

Dean was smirking, then let out a short laugh as he stood up and the way he looked down at Sam made him forget who the man of the law was in the room. Under his big brother’s gaze, he felt like a victim, having a staring contest with Death. Sam was the prey, and Dean the predator.

“You might not escape, but I still can’t let you move, at all. I’m sure you can understand why, Sammy…” he walked to the bag, Sam’s bag, and put it on the bed, next to Sam. He opened it and pulled out a handcuff, before twirling it on his index finger. Dean continued looking through the bag, but didn’t pull anything out, or at least Sam hoped he wouldn’t, until he saw him pull out a gun.

Shit.

“Dean-“ he started, but was cut off by his big brother, who tossed the bag back on the ground, and placed the handcuff and gun on the bed.

“You know, I admire you. I mean, at first I was a little skeptical, but you proved yourself, little brother,” he said, walking to the table at the corner of the room and picking something up. “I sent you many clues, but you didn’t play. Unfortunately, I had to turn to drastic measures, but then you finally found a few of my clues I left just for you.”

Sam didn’t want to believe what he was hearing, but there was no mistaking it. Dean was practically confessing to the murders. Still, Sam needed to hear it, hear him say it. “You…you’re the Righteous Man.”

Dean looked up from watching the object he picked up from the table, and smiled. “Of course! To tell you the truth, I was a bit insulted when you didn’t realize it at first. But, patience is the key to, well, everything, so I waited. And look where it got us. I’m glad I waited…I really am,” he said, coming back to the bed but instead of sitting down, he crawled on it and straddled Sam’s hips, wearing such a scary and _nasty_ grin that Sam felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Why? Why kill all those people?” he asked, trying not to think about the way Dean was on him, and noticed that what he picked up from the table was a combat knife, the blade reflecting in the dim light of the lamp as his brother turned it in his hand. Fuck, why was he so scared all of a sudden?

“Why? That’s a pretty silly question, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, moving the knife to the hem of Sam’s shirt, before sliding it under, the cold metal grazing his warm skin and making Sam shudder. “’Coz it was fun, mostly. Remember how dad would take us hunting? I’ve always loved it, the thrill, the kill, everything. But…have you ever tried killing a human, Sam? Oh, it’s so, so much better, believe me.”

“Killing someone? What, does that make you excited or something?” Sam scoffed, a pretty screwed up defense mechanism he had there.

“Oh, quite the opposite. I mean, at first. Then, I didn’t feel anything…” Dean trailed off, licking his lips as he slid the knife further up his brother’s shirt, then began cutting it, the fabric tearing loudly. “But after a while, I began to like it. My first human victim was just for fun. The second too. But the remaining ones, oh, I loved it,” he chuckled, then leaned closer, to Sam’s ears, and whispered. “You know, it’s like a high. I can’t stop, even if I wanted to. And it feels so fucking good.”

He wasn’t sure why, but Sam closed his eyes and held his breath when Dean leaned closer, and when he said that, he couldn’t help but let it out as a shaky exhale. Something was wrong, maybe it was a side effect from being under shock, but his reactions were odd. And when he heard the last remains of his shirt being ripped open with the knife, he felt his face heat up as he glanced from his exposed chest to his big brother, who was watching him with powerful, hungry eyes.

“D-Dean,” Sam breathed, swallowing nervously. “This isn’t you. Just…stop this. Let me go and we’ll talk. I swear I won’t turn you in, I really do, just don’t…”

“Don’t what? Do you even have _any_ idea what I’m about to do to you, Sammy?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow, and after realizing it wasn’t a rhetorical question, Sam shook his head. “Yeah, thought so. Lemme show you, then.”

Sam thought that maybe, Dean was going to kill him. Torture him. Threaten, or blackmail him. Maybe even convert him, ask him to kill with him. But never would he have thought that Dean would lean in and kiss him, while caressing his chest.

He froze, but only for a few seconds. When his brain registered what was going on, what the soft, lush lips were doing against his, his eyes widened and he turned his head quickly, breaking the kiss and gaping at his big brother with wide, shell-shocked eyes.

His lips moved, wanting to ask what the fuck that was, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak, found it too hard.

“What’s wrong little brother, cat got your tongue?” Dean grinned, biting his bottom lip as his eyes roamed Sam’s body, successfully making the man feel not only uncomfortable, but slightly aroused. Which was so messed up that Sam tried his best to ignore the warmth pooling in his stomach.

“What the hell? You…you don’t just kiss your brother like that! What are you doing?” Sam asked when he finally found his voice.

Dean laughed, bringing the knife up to Sam’s throat, then pressed down, breaking the skin to create a thin cut, though deep enough to let out a small drop of blood that trickled down the man’s neck. “Oh baby, you can’t be that blind. We both know what I’m doing, and I bet you’re gonna moan like a fucking _slut_ when I’ll make that sweet tight hole mine.”

“What?!” Sam asked incredulously, yanking at the ropes, but it wasn’t like they would magically loosen now of all times. “No, what the- no! Dean, seriously, this is not funny!”

“Do you see me laughin’?” Dean purred, then leaned in and lapped at the tiny amount of blood on Sam’s neck, sucking at the cut, and making his little brother hiss.

Sam clenched his jaw and felt his rapid heartbeat quicken even more as Dean’s wet tongue trailed down his neck, then shoulder and Sam leaned his head back, closing his eyes and cursing himself for secretly enjoying the little touches.

“Dean…” he gasped when his brother bit his shoulder, probably hard enough to create a wound, a mark, then felt the knife slowly trail up and down his bare chest, making him squeeze his eyes shut even more.

“Shh baby, just let go, and let me make you feel good. My Sammy…mine,” he whispered against Sam’s skin, before kissing it. Then, Dean began taking his little brother apart, piece by piece.

He kissed down his chest, sometimes sneaking a few bites and licks in, rough and hot, and when he reached Sam’s pants, he looked up with eyes full of lust, and something darker. Sam opened his eyes when he realized that Dean stopped, and glanced down at him, watching his brother grin like an animal, then start back up, kissing and nipping at Sam’s chest while he watched. He was mesmerized, by those eyes and by those lips, his skin dancing and burning where Dean kissed or even touched him. Sam knew he was so going to hell for this, if there even was a hell, but he wished he could kiss those lips properly again, wished so many things, some that made him sick. When Dean reached his nipple, he began teasing it and drove Sam crazy. He let out a shaky moan and arched his back as Dean circled around his nipple with the tip of his tongue, while he used the knife to take care of his little brother’s other nipple, poking, pressing and flicking, sometimes even cutting at it. Sam was reduced to gasps and like a broken record, repeated Dean’s name over and over as he took his nipple between his teeth and tugged, sucked, licked and Sam was about to start begging for something, _anything_ , when he stopped, pulling back both his mouth and the knife.

“Told you, you love it,” Dean grinned down at a panting Sam, who was so embarrassed and ashamed at this point that he didn’t even dare speak. He just watched as Dean trailed the knife down his chest, stopping at his bellybutton, and when he moved it back up, he pushed it down, making Sam grunt and close his eyes in pain. He could feel his flesh being cut by the blade, all the way up. Dean didn’t make a straight line, however he made many cuts, all around Sam’s chest as he moved the knife up. In the end, when Sam finally opened his eyes and looked down at his burning and aching chest, he felt horrified. It looked like as if a cat went crazy on his chest, or more like fucking Wolverine did, there were so many cuts, finger length, and deep enough to bleed. What was scarier, though, was the look on Dean’s face as he watched his creation, looking way too pleased with himself. Dean tilted his head, his eyes never leaving Sam’s bleeding chest. “Sammy, you’re so fucking beautiful…” he whispered, gathering a few drops of blood with his fingers and raised them to his lips, then slowly licked them clean, while closing his eyes.

And damn, should that have been terrifying as fuck, but Sam still managed to find it pretty hot.

Next, Dean began unbuckling Sam’s belt, and Sam knew there was no going back now, this was going to happen, he was going to have sex with a brutal serial killer, another man, his own big brother. Wow, Sam was fucked up.

After a few tugs and pulls, Dean successfully took Sam’s pants and underwear off, or at least pulled them down to his ankles, and Sam was horrified to see how hard he already was. They made eye contact and Sam had to swallow in order to keep the very unmanly sound that would have escaped him as he saw the hungry look in Dean’s eyes, how lust was written all over his face. He was now completely naked, tied to a bed, with a hungry predator looking down at him as if he was a piece of meat, and he most certainly felt like it. Like this, Sam was completely powerless, whatever happened, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, submissive to Dean. And that just made him hornier.

Sam Winchester wasn’t a plain man. He knew it about himself, that he was good looking, he didn’t live in denial. And he wasn’t just a pretty face. As a police detective, he worked out, stayed in shape, and since detectives go outside a lot, he had some color. He even had a tattoo of a black pentagram over his heart, though he couldn’t quite remember why or when he got that. So, naked, he wasn’t embarrassed about how he looked, but still, he was _naked_ and completely at Dean’s mercy.

Dean placed his hands on Sam’s thighs, and stroked his skin, his firm hands gentle on his skin, and Sam relaxed a little. “I see I’m not the only one excited,” Dean grinned as his hands reached Sam’s hard cock, and the younger man let out a small gasp. “Knew you’d be a slut for me, Sammy.”

“I’m not…fuck,” Sam cursed as Dean teased his cock with the back of his fingers, then suddenly flicked the tip, earning a cry from his little brother. That hurt, but his chest was heaving and he was feeling more and more aroused by the second, so he had to guess he might have developed a slight pain kink. Sam wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“Sure, you aren’t. So I’m guessing you don’t want me to fuck you, is that it?” Dean asked, surprising Sam. It was teasing, but sounded like a genuine question…as if Dean truly wanted to know if Sam wanted it, or not. He looked at his big brother with questioning eyes, and saw Dean watching him, waiting for an answer. And Sam would have said no, of course he didn’t want to be fucked by Dean, what kind of an insane question was that? But now, he wasn’t so sure. Sam must have been just as insane as the question itself, because he actually wanted it. Wanted to know how having sex with his brother would feel like. It already felt amazing, just having Dean play with his skin, damn, even when he cut him, hurt him, it felt fucking good, and Sam wanted more. He wasn’t disgusted, didn’t feel that any of it was wrong, no matter how wrong it actually was, he knew it but didn’t feel it.

So, instead of shaking his head and saying no, Sam bit his lower lip and looked at Dean with his puppy eyes he haven’t used in years. “It’s wrong, and I’m not completely sure why…but yeah. I do,” he said, then immediately blushed, heat rushing to his face and chest and his whole body was probably glowing red or something.

Dean grinned, which turned into an ear to ear smile, and leaned forward to kiss his little brother, roughly and forcefully, claiming his lips, as if Sam didn’t belong to Dean already. “Good, good boy. My Sammy…” he mumbled against Sam’s lips, before pulling back and chuckling darkly as he looked down at his little brother.

And even though Sam was pretty horny by then, the look in his brother’s eyes still scared him.

Dean looked around the room, then got up and off from the bed. He walked to the table and crouched down, pulling out a smaller bag from under the table, then after a moment of searching, he took a little bottle out from the bag. Lifting it up, so that Sam could also see what it was, Dean walked back to the bed, positioning himself between Sam’s spread and bound legs. He popped open the cap of the bottle with his thumb, and flashed a dirty grin at his nervous looking little brother.

And of course Sam was nervous. He had to watch as his brother poured a small amount of lube in his palm, then gathered it with two fingers before running them over Sam’s hole. He let out a silent gasp, taking in a sharp inhale as Dean slowly inserted those two fingers, all the while never breaking eye contact with Sam, which just made everything so much more intense. He hissed at the slight burning feeling, the push and pull of the fingers as they slid in and out of him, then had to close his eyes when Dean started making scissoring motions.

“You’re doing good, baby boy,” he praised Sam, using his free hand to stroke his brother’s hardening cock and earning a few moans and groans from the man. Sam tried ignoring the voice in the back of his mind, telling him to at least put up a fight, and focused instead on Dean’s fingers opening him up. However, soon those fingers and the hand around his cock were gone, and Sam opened his eyes, looking up at his brother. What he saw made his breath hitch, and his blood run cold.

“Dean?” Sam asked, his voice low and shaky as he tried to scoot back on the bed, but the ropes stopped him. Dean was wiping his fingers on the bed sheet, while holding a gun in his other hand, the gun that was put next to Sam in the beginning. He glanced at his side, and yes, now only the handcuffs were left there. He clenched his jaw, tensing his body as he watched Dean, who was smirking at the gun, then glanced at Sam, and his smirk grew into something that couldn’t even be called a human expression anymore.

“Don’t worry Sammy, this will be fun. I promise…” he chuckled, and placed his left hand next to his brother’s side, while trailing the gun, in his right hand, up Sam’s body. Starting from his feet, Dean went so, so agonizingly slowly, using the barrel of the gun to caress his brother’s skin and leave goosebumps where the steel touched skin. Sam’s heart beat faster and faster, the closer the gun got to his heart, adrenaline filling his body. Dean just grinned, wicked and promising, as he kept moving the gun up his little brother’s body, and when he reached his heart, he paused, looked into Sam’s eyes, and Sam made a small noise, something like a whimper, making Dean chuckle and kiss one of the wounds on his chest. Those wounds were burning even more, though it didn’t hurt when the barrel touched them, since Dean made it feel as if the gun was merely ghosting over Sam’s skin, hovering like a dangerous promise, filled with anticipation and fear.

Dean continued his journey up Sam’s body with the gun afterwards, and then stopped again, at Sam’s throat. Then, he pressed the barrel under his brother’s chin, hard enough to make Sam lean his head back in order for it not to hurt too much, but it still did. He held his breath, staying still, and when nothing happened, he had to start breathing again or else he would have probably suffocated. He took small, shaky breaths as Dean watched him, and he watched Dean, who was completely unpredictable at that point. But he didn’t shoot Sam, he merely smiled, then raised the gun to his little brother’s mouth.

“Open your mouth, Sammy,” Dean purred, and Sam was way too frightened and, well, still pretty horny, so he did. He slowly parted his lips, hissing as the cold steel pressed against his wounded lips, then slid past them. Sam’s eyes widened and he looked at Dean in shock, but his brother didn’t stop, just kept pushing the barrel further into Sam’s mouth, until he was choking. “That’s a good boy. Now, suck on it as if it was my dick,” he ordered, leaning closer to Sam. “Make it real wet, baby boy.”

It wasn’t like Sam could have said no, so he began sucking at the cold steel, swirling his tongue around it, or at least around as much as he could all the while trying not to choke. He moved his head a bit, back and forth, to make it look more like the real thing, and kept his eyes on Dean while doing so. And the look on his brother’s face was too cold. As if he was enjoying the show, maybe even getting off on it, but there didn’t seem to be any sympathy for Sam. As if he wouldn’t have cared if Sam really were to choke on the gun, or worse, accidentally blow his brains out. Sam saw emotions on his big brother’s face, in his eyes, like when he was asked if he wanted to have sex, but that didn’t completely prove that Dean was fine. Not at all. And judging from what Sam saw, Dean liked it, liked not being fine. And that was probably the scariest thing yet.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean said after a while, and withdrew the gun, a string of saliva connecting it to Sam’s lips until it snapped, and Dean moved back, between his brother’s legs. He glanced at the wet gun, then at Sam’s body, and grinned.

Oh no.

“Dean? Wait, just-“ Sam tried talking his brother out from what he knew he was about to do, but he was cut off by his own, not too manly, gasp as he felt the barrel against his hole. He shuddered, and tried closing his legs, but yet again couldn’t thanks to the ropes, tight around his ankles and biting into his skin.

“Wait? For what? I told you, we’re gonna have fun. And this, oh, this is what I call fun,” Dean chuckled, then pressed the gun harder, until the barrel slipped past the tight ring of muscle, and Sam moaned. It was uncomfortable, terrifying, odd, so fucking wrong and unnerving, but also felt quite good, just like everything else Dean has done to him so far.

“Dean, this is…fuck,” Sam breathed, biting down on his bottom lip as Dean pushed further, never stopping until the trigger guard reached Sam’s hole. Panting, he looked at Dean, who seemed to be having the time of his life, grinning from ear to ear as he watched, mesmerized, as the barrel disappeared in Sam.

“Look at this, Sammy. Your slutty little hole straight-up swallowed the barrel of the gun. Bet you’d do wonders with my cock, later,” Dean said, winking at Sam as he began moving the gun, twisting and turning it, left and right, in and out, making his little brother fucking lose it. The barrel must have grazed, or even pressed against his prostate, because being fucked by a gun shouldn’t have felt so good, but it did, and Sam arched his back and let out many lewd moans. He pushed his hips out, gasping and groaning as the, now warm, steel barrel pushed and pulled, and even though it burned, since the saliva dried already, it also felt amazing. Sam really did seem to have a pain kink going on for him…

Dean kept it up, moving the gun roughly, faster, and didn’t even slow down when he saw how Sam’s skin began to redden, and stick painfully to the barrel. No, he kept going, forcefully shoving the gun inside his brother until Sam’s moans turned into grunts, and painful groans instead of pleasure, since Sam wasn’t a complete masochist. Dean stopped then, and slowly pulled the gun out, before simply throwing it on the floor, discarding it.

“How you feelin’, Sammy?” he asked, leaning in to kiss at the cut on Sam’s neck, while gently rubbing his little brother’s aching hole with his index finger. Sam let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving rapidly. He felt as if he was high, his mind clouded by pain and pleasure, and fear of many things. For example, liking this way too much. And honestly, he wasn’t sure how he was feeling. Scared, turned on and probably guilty? But instead, he simply nodded and sighed.

“Fine. I’m fine,” he said what Dean wanted to hear, then felt his brother’s lips on his. This time, it wasn’t a rough, dominating kiss that screamed ownership. This time, Dean didn’t claim his little brother’s lips, he asked for them. It actually took Sam a few seconds to return the kiss, he was so surprised. Dean licked his lips, his wounded, kiss bitten lips, then softly pressed his against Sam’s and kissed him passionately, tenderly and fondly. It was so sweet it hurt, and Sam closed his eyes as he kissed Dean back, just as softly. It was a long, seemingly loving kiss, which left Sam breathless after it was over.

“Good,” Dean smirked, then placed a quick kiss on Sam’s forehead before moving back and taking his shirt off.

And damn, if Sam thought his big brother was hot with a shirt on, he couldn’t find words appropriate enough to describe how he was shirtless. Firm looking muscles, a familiar tattoo and that chest…yeah, Sam was blown away.

That is, until he realized why the tattoo was so familiar.

“Dean…is that the same tattoo I have?” he asked, frowning as he looked at the black pentagram over Dean’s heart. Dean glanced from his chest to Sam’s, then shrugged.

“Guess so. Another sign that we’re…well, frankly, meant to be,” he chuckled, then stood on his knees as he unbuckled his belt, and took his pants and underwear off. And as Sam watched, all his questions about matching tattoos flew right out the window because holy shit! Dean Winchester was a fucking god.

He felt his mouth water at the sight, something definitely not creepy, and he swallowed audibly, licking his lips. Dean’s dick was thick, longer than average and fucking gorgeous. Sam had no idea how a dick could be gorgeous, but if it was possible, then Dean’s would be the perfect example.

His big brother probably noticing Sam drooling over the sight of his body, grinned and raised his eyebrows. “See something you like, baby?” he asked, laughing when Sam’s face turned an interesting shade of red, looking embarrassed and horny beyond words. Dean licked his beautiful, full lips and tapped Sam’s dick, earning a low moan form his brother. “Lemme give you some service, before we get it on…”

Sam gasped, then squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Dean’s warm breath on his hard cock. Dean leaned down and licked, lapped at the tip of his cock, swirling his tongue around the underside of the head, and no matter how good it felt just laying there and letting Dean do unbelievable things with his tongue, Sam wanted to see. He forced his eyes open, and looked down, and the sight that welcomed him made him fucking moan. Dean glanced up, and smirked, before taking Sam’s aching dick in his mouth. Those full, gorgeous lips around his dick, those mesmerizing eyes watching him as Dean bobbed his head, taking more and more of Sam in his mouth, while never breaking eye contact, had Sam fucking lose it.

“Holy crap,” he gasped, and would have gripped Dean’s hair, pushed his head down and made him choke on his dick, if it wouldn’t have been for those damn ropes keeping him from moving. It was so irritating, but at least he could still buck his hips up, into the warmth of Dean’s mouth, but then strong hands grabbed his hips and pushed him down, even forbidding him from doing that. He groaned, letting his head fall back on the pillow in frustration, but soon went back to moaning and panting, as Dean sped up. He began fucking humming around Sam’s cock, swallowing around him, the wet slurping sounds echoing in the room, and his tongue doing unimaginable things to Sam, who never wanted this to end.

And again, as if someone high up had a vendetta against him, Sam let out a small whine when Dean pulled away with an obscene sound, and winked at Sam.

“You’re not quite ready yet, Sammy,” Dean grinned, sucking his bottom lip in. He then glanced down at his own neglected dick that seemed even bigger now that he was so hard, and as Sam followed Dean’s gaze, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are we…?” he cleared his throat, looking up at Dean as he leaned closer, and smiled.

“Oh, hell yes we are.”

Then, Dean reached out to Sam’s right wrist, and grabbed his knife, beginning to cut the rope away. He did the same thing with Sam’s other wrist, and when both of his hands were finally free, the younger man hissed in pain, but also let out a sigh of relief as he massaged his aching wrists.

“Don’t get too excited, baby. I’m just upgrading,” he heard Dean chuckle, and when Sam looked up from his wrists, his eyes widened as he saw the handcuffs in his brother’s hands.

“Dean, you don’t need to use that,” he said, but knew that even if he tried, he couldn’t convince Dean not to cuff him, judging from those seriously wicked eyes, and grin that always managed to scare Sam. It was a constant reminder that he was having sex with a cruel serial killer. Of course he’d want cuffs, want it rough, dangerous and bloody.

“C’mon Sammy, don’t chicken out now. Let’s play…” Dean purred, sliding his hands up and down Sam’s side, and leaned in close, nipping at his little brother’s bottom lip. Sam was so distracted by Dean’s eyes and lips, that he didn’t notice that his brother’s hands moved to his waist, gripping it harder than necessary, and when Sam finally realized something was wrong, it was already too late. Dean dug his fingers in Sam’s waist as he flipped him over, Sam letting out a loud cry as his legs twisted painfully. “Sorry baby,” Dean chuckled, not feeling sorry at all, and he sounded like he enjoyed seeing Sam in pain, which was understandable, with him being a murderer and all. He quickly cut the ropes binding Sam’s ankles to the bed, accidentally, or not, cutting him in the process, and took his little brother’s pants and underwear off completely, while Sam tried turning back on his back, since his chest was filled with wounds, which burned when coming in contact with the mattress.

Unfortunately, Dean seemed to have other ideas. He growled, _actually fucking growled_ , as he grabbed Sam’s shoulders and pushed him down, his little brother letting out a pained whimper as some of his wounds started bleeding again, and others simply hurting like hell.

“Dean, let me-“

“Nope,” Dean stated, using his knees to push Sam’s legs apart, then pressed his elbows into his brother’s side while grabbing his hands, and cuffing them behind his back. Sam grunted in annoyance and tried moving his hands, but it was all in vain, plus the metal was hurting his aching wrists anyway, so he stopped trying.

“It hurts,” he complained, knowing that it wouldn’t change anything, but he felt like sharing.

“Yeah. Good,” was all Dean said, before he slapped Sam’s ass, hard. His little brother let out a surprised groan, and looked over his shoulder, at a satisfied Dean. “What? Spanking’s hot, you’ll love it,” he winked, and when Sam frowned, he added, “Have I ever lied?”

And, well, aside from the being dead and killing people part, no, Dean never gave false promises to Sam. So Sam licked his dry lips nervously, shook his head, and buried his face in the pillow.

“Yeah, good boy. Just like that…now, raise your hips,” Dean ordered, and after a moment of hesitation, Sam got on his knees and pushed his hips up and out, trying to keep his chest as far away from the mattress as possible. Which, unfortunately, didn’t really work, since he only had his knees and chest to support himself, so when he felt Dean’s palm on his ass, as he hit him again, he collapsed and let out a small whimper.

At least his hips stayed up in the air, making him look like a freaking whore, begging to be fucked. Damn, Sam was glad that his face was hidden in the pillow, because he was blushing madly.

Meanwhile, Dean was having some fun. He kept on slapping, spanking Sam’s ass, his little brother gasping and whimpering each time he was hit. It was strangely arousing, and Sam found himself pushing his ass out for Dean, something he tried not to really contemplate on.

“Damn, Sammy,” he heard Dean, as he stroked Sam’s burning ass. “If only you could see yourself right now,” Dean whispered, then kissed the small of Sam’s back, just above his ass where Sam was sure there were many palm shaped red marks. Then, instead of hands, Sam suddenly felt something much warmer against his ass, and he recoiled, nearly hitting his head on the headboard in the process.

Dean laughed, grabbing his brother’s hips and pulling him back, then slowly, teasingly, began grinding against Sam’s ass crack. “No need to be scared, not anymore. Just relax…this will feel better than anything,” Dean promised, sliding his hands to Sam’s ass cheeks, and spread them, before teasing and rubbing at his little brother’s hole with his rock hard dick.

Sam let out a mix of a whine and a moan, pressing his forehead into the pillow and trying not to suffocate while panting, or probably getting a heart attack because the speed his heart was beating seemed pretty dangerous.

“D-Dean…” he sighed, slightly trembling from excitement and anticipation. He clenched his fists, trying to prepare himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next. He cried out as Dean simply fucking _shoved_ his dick in Sam, surely ripping something. Wide-eyed, Sam breathed heavily and forced himself to relax around the huge length of his big brother’s dick, something that was easier said than done.

Forcing his dick in wasn’t such a great idea, but Dean didn’t seem to care about Sam’s pain. He groaned, pushing in deeper until he was balls deep in his whimpering little brother, gripping his hips and digging his nails into his skin, leaving more marks on the poor man. Sam would have never thought that Dean was this possessive.

“Fuck, oh god, Sammy,” Dean moaned, slowly pulling out, until just the head of his dick was inside, then pushed back in, just as slowly. “So fucking tight, baby boy.”

Sam, even if he wanted to, couldn’t say anything, the ability to form a comprehensible sentence apparently leaving him. All he could do was moan, keen for his big brother’s amazing cock. It hurt, a lot, the push and pull burning, stretching him open so suddenly and brutally, but at the same time, it was slowly starting to feel good. Having a gun up his ass was nothing compared to this feeling of fullness as his brother fucked him, and they only just started, but Sam was already dripping pre-come on the sheets, moaning like some wanton whore.

Dean soon picked up his pace, letting out low groans, possessive growls, as he fucked in and out of his brother with long, hard and deep thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. Sweat and sex was in the air, intoxicating, and none of them cared anymore, nothing else mattered in that moment, only the way their bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm, with Dean wildly and roughly fucking his brother, without mercy, and Sam, who pushed back, meeting Dean’s hips with each thrust. And when Dean hit his little brother’s prostate, Sam could see stars, and he got louder, and dirtier, moaning like a slut, loudly and needily, his high pitched whines and drawn out moans driving his brother crazy with lust.

His big brother broke Sam’s skin as he dug his fingers so deep in the younger man’s skin that it started bleeding, but none of them cared. Dean rammed into his brother like a famished animal, ravishing his little brother, body and soul, and he didn’t realize, because obviously his mind was laser focusing on Sam, and on the pleasure, but something was going on. With him, that is. A warmth, that unconsciously made him grip Sam’s hips tighter, and fuck him even more brutally, savagely.

And it came from his right arm.

But he didn’t notice. He kept on destroying his little brother, who felt like he was going to fall apart any second, panting heavily and crying out in overwhelming pleasure, until he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Dean, Dean!” Sam screamed, as his orgasm hit him, his body shuddering violently as he came all over the sheets. And as he did, his hole clenched around Dean’s aching cock, making his big brother lose it. He let out an interesting mixture of curses, and slammed his hips forward, emptying his load deep inside his little brother who, even though still coming down from the high, shivered at the feeling.

Dean was trying to catch his breath, collapsing on his little brother, who couldn’t support both of their weight so he had to lie down on the bed, crushing his bleeding chest against the dirty mattress, but not really giving a crap at the moment. His cuffed wrists were also crushed between his and his brother’s body, but soon, Dean rolled off of him and lay next to him, panting and grinning like an idiot. Sam was spent and satisfied as well, however with his chest hurting like hell and his wrists cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t really do much other than let out a small whine as he tried to move back on his knees.

Noticing his brother’s discomfort, Dean chuckled and patted Sam’s thigh. “Sorry, forgot,” he said, before getting off the bed, picking up the key from the table, then got back on the bed and uncuffed his brother.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, quickly turning on his back, but had to realize that even that hurt. Well, his ass did, a lot. He sighed, lightly touching the wounds on his chest, and feeling a little sick at the sight of his come all over his stomach. Fortunately, there was a pack of tissues on one of the bedside tables, so he leaned over in a way that was least painful and grabbed a few, before wiping the sticky mess from his skin, paying attention not to get any in his wounds.

“Got you cut up nice and pretty, hm?” Dean gloated from next to him. He was propped on his elbow as he lay there, watching Sam with a small smirk. Sam bit his bottom lip, glancing at his brother from the corner of his eyes. With the adrenaline, the high gone, the fear stayed. Now that Dean fucked him, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t kill him. Both of them were still naked, vulnerable, except that Dean still had his knife, which was put on the bedside table closest to Dean, so _he_ wasn’t that defenseless.

“Why?” he asked, trying to sit up, but quickly decided against it when he felt a horrible pain in his ass. Instead, he lay back next to Dean, keeping a safe distance without actually falling down the other side of the bed.

“Why what?” Dean tilted his head, grabbing Sam’s waist and pulling him closer, then narrowed his eyes and, there it was again, the look that frightened Sam the most. “What do you mean?”

“I meant…” Sam swallowed, feeling way too exposed, in many ways. “I meant, why did you cut me? And have sex with me?”

Dean blinked, then laughed in Sam’s face. Sam frowned, feeling confused, but when Dean suddenly moved much, much closer, with only inches separating their face, he couldn’t help but look away, blushing like a damn girl.

“Sammy, a predator’s gotta mark what’s his, am I right?” Dean grinned, glancing from Sam’s eyes to his lips, then kissed him, this time not that softly, but with authority, and dominance, taking what he wanted. And Sam gave him everything, opened his mouth and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him down. That must have surprised Dean, but he smiled, deepening the kiss and trailed his hand up and down his little brother’s side, while his other hand was in Sam’s hair, running his fingers through it and grabbing a handful. He pulled Sam’s head back, by his hair, making the man groan, then kissed down his exposed neck, licking and nuzzling at the hollow of his throat.

Like this, Sam felt like an animal tamer, with Dean being the predator. And, well, he didn’t really mind. He just hoped the wild animal wouldn’t turn on him and rip his throat out, with his teeth, when Sam wasn’t looking.

“Mmm, my little brother,” Dean purred, nibbling at Sam’s chin, which shouldn’t have been cute, but it was, and Sam smiled. Dean’s reaction to that was shocking, as instead of smiling back, he gaped at Sam, then burst out laughing.

“You smiled! That was the first time you smiled,” Dean grinned happily, and quickly kissed Sam’s cheek. Sam was a bit taken aback, but seeing how happy smiling made his brother, he flashed another genuine, dimpled smile, and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Now came the hard, scary part.

“Dean…” Sam started, clearing his throat and hoping for the best. “You know that I’m a detective. And you’re a…well, a serial killer. I won’t turn you in, you don’t have to worry about that, even if that would be the right thing to do, I won’t. But you need to stop. Promise me that you’ll stop.”

Sam watched his brother, as he thought, as he chewed on his lips. Then Dean smirked and looked down.

“Sorry Sam, but I won’t.”

And Sam wasn’t that surprised, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed. And sad. He sighed and was about to start convincing his brother not to keep killing, because Sam was one stubborn person, even when he knew he could end up dead if he pushed his luck. But he never got to say any of what he wanted, as his attention was drawn by something on Dean’s arm.

“Dean?” Sam frowned, and reached out to his big brother’s forearm. “What’s this?”

Dean looked down at the weird mark on his arm and frowned as well. Sam was trailing his index finger along the odd shape, and it felt soft, as if the skin was burnt there. And he had that strange feeling, as if he knew this mark from somewhere.

“What the…” Dean seemed confused as he watched the mark, and the frown on his face only deepened when he touched it. It was like even his big brother didn’t know where the mark came from, which shouldn’t have been possible. But then Dean looked at Sam with a confused, and slightly creeped out expression, and said, “I’ve never seen it before.”

“What? How…but it’s _on_ you,” Sam sat up, even though it hurt, after his brother did too, and grabbed Dean’s arm. It was a line, with the end slightly curling up and forming a sort of ‘L’. There were two smaller droplet-like lines next to the other one, and even though it looked quite painful, Dean didn’t even flinch when Sam touched it.

“I don’t know. I…I really don’t remember,” Dean growled, frustrated and confused, just like Sam. “It feels awfully familiar, and I’m getting a bad feeling about it, but I don’t know where it came from.”

“That’s…”

“Odd. And fucked up. Yeah, you’re telling me,” he said, pressing and poking the mark curiously, but didn’t seem to be able to recall anything about its existence, or how it got on him.

And if Sam was confused and pretty creeped out then, he nearly yelped like a girl when he heard the voice.

“Oh, well, this is an awkward situation…” a voice came from the other side of the room, and both men quickly pulled the bed sheet over their naked bodies, before Dean grabbed the knife from the bedside table.

“Who the fuck are you? And how did you get in here?” Dean growled, but aside from those questions, Sam would have also loved to know since when this guy has been in the room.

The man stepped forward, and into the faint light of the bedside lamp. He was rather handsome, which made Sam remind himself that even though he had sex with his brother, he was _not_ gay. He was also wearing a light brown trench coat, with a suit under it, though it looked like the guy has just been dropped by a hurricane, his clothes were so messy.

“Dean-“ the man tried to speak, but Sam’s big brother didn’t even let him finish before he started yelling.

“How do you know my name?!” he bellowed incredulously, practically snarling at the stranger, but at the same time, seemed a bit frightened. And Sam could understand why. The man had a certain authority to him, which made others feel like nothing, weak and powerless against him. He also seemed vaguely familiar, and Sam had the same cunning feeling about this man, as with the mark. Yeah, by this time, he was starting to get a bit scared too.

“I know both of you, Sam and Dean Winchester. You don’t remember anything?” the man asked, as if he was confused, but then shook his head and sighed. “Of course you don’t. That…bastard took care of that too,” he rolled his eyes, then stared at them for an uncomfortable amount of time. “I’m not sure why _this_ happened, though.”

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, but you better get the hell out of here before I cut you up to little pieces,” Dean warned, gripping the handle of the knife tightly, feeling confused. He was scared, and didn’t know why. Though probably the scariest part was the fact that he felt _safe_. And the same went for Sam. He felt unnaturally relieved, with this stranger in the room. This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

“I see you didn’t really change, even in another reality,” the man sighed and smiled, before looking away. “I suggest you put some clothes on, before we go back.”

“Go back? We’re not going anywhere with you,” Sam said, gripping the sheets tightly, and feeling really uncomfortable. “We don’t even know you!”

“You know me,” was all the man said, and after a few moments of silence, he added, “My name is Castiel.”

Both Sam and Dean frowned, thinking of anyone by that name, and even though none of them remembered, or knew anyone by that name, it still seemed familiar. Sam was starting to think he had some sort of amnesia.

“Hurry up,” the man, Castiel, said, glancing from left to right. “I don’t have much time, it was already hard finding you. If you don’t put your clothes on, I will have to bring you back like this, and… I don’t think you’ll be happy when you remember.”

They didn’t understand what Castiel was trying to say, but dressing up seemed like a good idea for Sam, so he quickly put on the clothes that weren’t ripped apart, and saw that Dean was following his example too, after a few moments of deadly staring contest with the stranger.

“I will kill you, no, I will do so much worse, if you don’t hurry up and tell us what the fuck you want. And also, how you got in,” Dean demanded, because a random man appearing in a locked room was still bothering him a little.

Sam hesitantly put a hand on Dean’s arm and squeezed, trying to calm his big brother down. He really didn’t want to witness, or help with a murder. Incest didn’t mean he was going to turn into a criminal like his brother.

“Of course you will,” Castiel smirked, actually _freaking smirked_ , and Sam was about to tell Dean not to do anything, but it was too late, he was walking towards the man, knife at the ready, while Castiel just stood there, what was he doing, and Sam ran forward, quickly stepping between him and Dean, then felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Dean glare at Castiel as he grabbed his arm-

Then they were in the bunker.

Sam blinked repeatedly, trying to recall what just happened, when everything came back. Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, Crowley, Abaddon, Metatron… Dean getting the Mark of Cain from the man himself, then becoming crueler thanks to the First Blade.

He gasped, looking wide eyed at Dean, who was just as shocked as him, and seemed a little out of it. Sam glanced at Castiel, and saw him watching Dean with a worried look on his face, but when he noticed Sam staring at him, he sighed and averted his gaze.

“Metatron found out about the First Blade. He knew you were planning on using it on him, so he put you in another universe. I’ve been looking for the two of you for a few days and had to act quickly when I finally found you. I also met Gabriel, and he helped me get you out,” he said, confusing Sam even more, before looking back at the hunters, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh, never wanted to interrupt anything. I didn’t know you were romantically…intimately involved. I apologize.”

And then, just like that, he turned around and marched out the door.

Well, this was awkward.

Sam stared at the floor until he had the courage to look up at his brother, and when he did, he saw Dean staring at him with a guilty, ashamed and embarrassed look on his face. All three of those at the same time. Talent.

Sam didn’t know what to say. But what could he say, really? For the past few days, they’ve been in another universe, where Dean was a fucking serial killer, and he was a cop. And they had sex. Messed up, kinky as fuck, rough and dirty sex. Gay incest. Yeah, there was no good way to start a conversation after something like that.

Still, Sam Winchester wouldn’t be Sam Winchester if he didn’t at least try. Because if he didn’t, then Dean sure as hell wouldn’t, either.

“Dean…” Sam said hesitantly, looking wanly at Dean, who couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes, now that he was looking at him.

“It happened in another universe. All of it. Not here. We never did anything,” Dean muttered quickly, then without even waiting for an answer, he speed-walked to his room, leaving Sam standing alone, and a bit taken aback.

He sighed, and felt a horrible pit in his stomach. Sam knew that even though Dean claimed that they weren’t the ones who did it, who had sex, it wasn’t the case. Not really. He looked down at his chest, exposed, as his shirt couldn’t really cover much, with being ripped and all. The wounds were still there, and his ass still hurt. So, nothing really changed. Aside from the fact that they weren’t cop, and murderer.

But it all came down to this: they had sex, and they liked it.

And it looked like this was going to be one of those things that have to be buried deep down, next to all the other unspeakable dark shit, and never to be spoken of again.

But Sam…wasn’t sure if he was glad, or sad.


	3. Epilogue

“Ow,” Sam hissed as the water touched his chest, and the several wounds in the process of healing. Three days have passed since they came back, and ever since then, life seemed different. Colder, empty. Dean refused to talk for a whole day, but went back to normal afterwards, if starting meaningless conversations, faking smiles and looking jumpy as fuck could be called normal.

But Sam couldn’t blame him. He was trying to forget what happened between them, just like Dean, but it wasn’t that easy. Seeing his brother, nearly 24/7 just made it even harder. Made him remember that day, Dean’s lips on his, his hands on his body, his fingers, his…well, everything.

Sam let out an uneven sigh, leaning his forehead against the tiles as water rushed down his back, and he placed a hand on his thigh. He hasn’t touched himself for those three days, but resisting became harder and harder as time went by. And now that he was alone, with his memories, with his sin, Sam wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and relive those moments. But he wouldn’t do it. Because it was wrong, and he shouldn’t, and he knew he would only feel worse afterwards, wouldn’t be able to look his brother in the eyes.

So he quickly showered and dried his hair and body, putting on a pair of boxers and pants, but left the shirt. His wounds were still hurting, a lot, and he wasn’t about to risk ripping them open by accident. He draped the towel around his neck and got out of the bathroom, feeling hungry. Yeah, guilt and sexual frustration weighted him down, he was unable to eat three meals a day, and it wasn’t like the few apples and soggy salads he’s been eating could be called a decent meal but, well, at least he was eating something.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed to be living on pie only. Only sweet things, not even a hamburger. It was starting to worry Sam, but he still wasn’t quite sure how to approach his brother without being awkward. At least, as Sam walked into the kitchen, Dean seemed to be cutting a piece from a cherry pie, which was a change from the constant apple pies. Sam smiled to himself, watching as his brother fought with the pie, trying to cut a piece big enough to fill him, but small enough in order not to seem like a pie vacuum. His smile quickly withered, though, when Dean noticed him and immediately grabbed a plate, put the slice on it and grabbed a fork from somewhere.

“There’s some, uh, tomato salad in the fridge, I think,” he mumbled as he walked past Sam, who just nodded and stared at the wall, as if it held the secrets of the universe. They might have started talking, but eye contact was still out of the question.

Sam put a small amount of salad on a plate, not really craving any, even though he was hungry. He felt sick, knew that he wasn’t actually ill and it was only psychological, but he couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to calm himself down, thought about better days, about anything that didn’t involve Dean’s naked body, then grabbed his plate, spent way longer than Dean finding a damned fork, and walked into the other room. They had a room just for eating, but usually used the main hall, where all the books were. It felt nicer, eating there, or at least it did, when there wasn’t a horrible, awkward silence between them.

His big brother was already eating there, and Sam thought about simply going into the other room, but thought against of it. They had to at least attempt getting back to normal, no matter how hard that seemed now. Sam was sure that Dean was drowning in guilt and being disgusted by himself for getting involved _that way_ with his own brother, and he could understand it, because he felt the same. Well, he felt guilt ridden and ashamed, however wasn’t disgusted. He still thought about Dean, remember?

And maybe, that was the worst. Not that they wouldn’t talk to each other, worse than the silence, than anything, was the fact that Sam genuinely enjoyed his intimate time with Dean. He fucking loved it. Sam never thought of Dean that way, probably only once when he was younger, but he was a teenager then and he only fantasized about his brother once, and he got disgusted later, so that didn’t count. This, however, did count. And Sam couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wished, deep, deep down, that he could relive that day, or if not, he wanted to at least stop feeling this way. Yeah…it was way worse, like this.

He wasn’t sure if he stood there for a second, or a minute, but he sure as hell realized that he was spacing out when he felt Dean’s gaze on him. For a moment, he froze, getting nervous for nothing, then reluctantly looked at his brother. Dean was staring at his chest, and looking miserable as fuck.

It was probably then, that Sam decided, fuck this, and walked over to Dean. He put his plate right next to his, and sat down in the chair next to him before starting to eat. Dean stopped staring, and quickly went back to his pie, absently picking at it for one, two minutes in silence, before glancing at Sam from the corner of his eyes. “Does it still hurt?”

Sam stopped mid-bite, and quickly swallowed the piece of salad without choking as he looked at Dean. His brother watched him with unblinking eyes, waiting, and Sam thought that he should probably answer, so he nodded and smiled a little. “Yeah, it’s bad. But it’s also getting better, and I’ve had worse, so I’m fine,” he said, apparently failing at convincing Dean, because now he looked worse than before. Worrying if he just screwed things up, Sam was about to reassure his brother that he really was alright, when Dean surprised him, big time.

He reached out, slowly and tentatively, towards Sam’s chest, and gently trailed his fingers along a few of his little brother’s wounds, watching his chest rise and fall, and Sam was cursing himself for not putting on a damn shirt, because like this, there was no way Dean wouldn’t notice what kind of effect touching would have on Sam.

“I’m sorry,” Dean muttered, so quietly that Sam would have missed it if he wouldn’t have been watching his brother’s face so intently. Dean slowly stood up, probably feeling like he said enough, and began walking back to his room. But Sam wasn’t going to have any of that.

“It’s not your fault, Dean. You’re always blaming yourself for everything, so this time, listen to me,” Sam said, going after his brother and only stopping a few feet in front of him, well in his personal space, but he didn’t give a damn right now. “Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t us. It will…” his voice broke, but Sam forced himself to continue. “It will _never_ be us.”

Dean smiled, patting Sam’s shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, I know. We’re not like that.”

Or at least, that’s what Sam thought he would do.

Instead, his brother looked like he was forcing himself not to fucking break down in tears as he stepped even closer to Sam, now only inches separating the two hunters, and said, “Yeah, I know. And that’s the problem.”

And then, he kissed Sam.

He placed a hand on the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him down into the kiss, while his other hand was gently lingering on his little brother’s chest. Dean pressed his lips against Sam’s, softly, lovingly, afraid, and after a second or two, licked lightly at his brother’s bottom lip, asking, begging for entrance. Meanwhile, Sam wasn’t shocked or surprised, he was fucking flabbergasted. He froze, needing a long moment to even realize what was happening, let alone notice Dean’s attempts to deepen the kiss. But when he did, he tried his best not to start laughing and crying at the same time, and parted his lips, wrapping his arms around his big brother’s waist, and pulled him closer.

Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and let out a strangled sound as he was embraced, making Sam wonder if Dean was going to be the one to break down instead. He slowly slid his tongue in the younger man’s mouth, and Sam felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he caught Dean’s curious tongue between his teeth and nibbled at it teasingly, before kissing his brother back, finally, longingly and fondly.

His big brother smiled into the kiss as he deepened it, slowly backing Sam into a wall, carefully and tenderly starting to caress his abused chest. Sam hummed in pleasure, lightly stroking Dean’s back as they kissed, and when they had to pull back in order to breath, Sam couldn’t hold it in, and began to freaking giggle. Dean smiled from ear to ear, a blush appearing on his face and dang, he was adorable. And hot. Incredibly hot.

“Is this okay?” he asked, licking his lips as he looked at Sam, their bodies pressed against each other, or at least the lower part, since Dean didn’t dare touch his brother’s chest too much, in fear of causing him even more pain.

Sam smiled, nodding as he kissed Dean’s forehead. “You kidding? I thought I’d never get to kiss you ever again…”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Dean winked, drawing a laugh from Sam, then kissed his brother’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry that I hurt you, Sammy,” he sighed, placing soft kisses on the hunter’s skin, then began moving down, the kisses becoming lighter as he kissed every single cut and wound on Sam’s chest, and it was all he could do not to melt right there and then from the loving kisses.

“Dean, it’s okay,” he breathed, stroking the back of his brother’s head. “And anyway, I kinda…you know. Liked it,” Sam confessed, making Dean look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You did…? Really?” he asked, a mischievous smirk crossing his face. “Well, that’s good to know, mister kinky.”

“Hey, I’m not! But then you’re kinky as well, with your bondage stuff,” Sam huffed, and then laughed as he saw the look on Dean’s face.

“That was pretty fucking hot, okay? You, all bound and ready for the taking, I mean…” he trailed off, then glanced at Sam, before shoving him further into the wall. “Anyway, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that. Can’t lie to me, Sammy.”

And yeah, he couldn’t lie, it was pretty hot. Sam licked his lips excitedly, inhaling a shaky breath as he wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, then grinned. “Can’t say it was bad. Not at all,” he purred, and quickly kissed his brother’s nose. “But I’m curious how it’d feel if you were gentle.”

Saying that made Sam blush, he didn’t plan it to sound that girly, but judging from Dean’s expression, he got his point across. His brother smiled, kissing Sam’s neck, and nodded. “Yeah, me too. I really don’t want to hurt you, and I promise I’ll never be that rough, ever again. A little pain play is okay, but too much…I can’t do that.”

“Good. I’m not a masochist,” Sam agreed, pulling Dean into a hug which didn’t last too long, because manliness, then Dean took his little brother’s hand in his, taking them to his room, because fuck it, they loved each other, even if none of them said the words.

Yet.


End file.
